


Florence Nightingale Effect

by deathishauntedbyhumans



Series: SF Discord Challenges [6]
Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Crushes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holding Hands, Internal Monologue, M/M, Secret Santa, Spoilers for Chapter Five: Memories and Dreams, Swing Set, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21931018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathishauntedbyhumans/pseuds/deathishauntedbyhumans
Summary: Sal shook his head. “There’s always hope, Travis. No matter who you are --or who youthinkyou are-- there’s always hope. You’re not a lost cause. You say it a lot, but… You can do great things. The only thing stopping you is your own fear. Once you get rid of that, I bet-- Actually, no, Iknowthat you can do amazing things.”
Relationships: Sal Fisher/Travis Phelps
Series: SF Discord Challenges [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1493387
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Florence Nightingale Effect

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Secret Santa gift for a friend on the Sally Face discord!! Merry Christmas, Lars! I hope you have a lovely holiday and that everything this year and next finds you well. And I hope you enjoy this fic!!

“I don’t know if there’s any hope for me, Sally Face.” 

The swing set creaked as Travis rocked backwards. He didn’t let his feet leave the ground; he was much too intent on his horrible thoughts to let himself enjoy the swings for what they were.

Sal looked over at him in surprise. Even with the prosthetic mask covering his face, as usual, Travis could tell he was confused about the sudden direction the conversation was taking. He’d gotten better at reading Sal over these past few months; it was easier to understand the quiet way he bore his emotions now that they’d been spending more and more time together. 

His father wouldn’t approve if he knew just where Travis had been disappearing off to with such an increasing frequency, but Travis had no intention of letting him find out just who he was spending time with when he wasn’t at home or church. 

“What are you talking about?” Sal asked, his pigtails swishing a little in the breeze. The wind was picking up; it would be colder in a few hours, when the sun had officially set and dusk had given way to night. It was just nearing fall now, which meant that soon, Travis wouldn’t be able to sneak away as often, since cooler weather meant that there would be less time that he could spend outside and away from his father.

Travis let out a sigh and leaned back in the seat of the swing, raising his hands on the chains to keep himself up on it. “I don’t know.” For the millionth time since they’d begun the tentative friendship that had slowly blossomed into something more solid, Travis considered telling Sal about what he knew about his father’s involvement with the strange temple beneath their church, about how he’d heard his father and some of the other members of the congregation discussing Sal and his connections to some “prophecy” that his father would never tell him about even if he asked, about how much it frightened Travis whenever he was left alone too long with those too-odd members of the church. He considered laying it all out for him, laying himself and his father bare in front of the one person who’d seen through his tough-asshole act at the start and had tried to see him for more than that. It would hurt to get it out, maybe, but Sal would be able to take it. Maybe he’d understand, or maybe he wouldn’t, but Travis had never once felt as hurt by Sal as he felt by his very own family. Sal might even be able to take that hurt away! 

But… Travis relaxed his neck muscles and let his head flop over, so that he had a sideways view of Sally Face beside him, and he chickened out the same way that he always did when he thought about telling him about the weird things that happened around his father. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “It’s stupid. Forget I said anything.” 

“Hey,” Sal said. His feet pressed into the dirt beneath them, his shoes scuffing against the ground. He paid them no mind as he stood up, and Travis had a moment of panic. Maybe this was the moment Sal was finally going to realise that spending time around him was only going to be bad for both of them. Maybe Sal was just going to give up on him as a lost cause and walk away. Maybe Travis  _ was  _ as big of a disappointment as his father always told him he was. Maybe--

He sat up to stop Sal from leaving, or maybe to watch him go, but he didn’t get any farther than that because Sal was leaning  _ into his space,  _ and Travis suddenly couldn’t breathe. 

Sal curled his hands around the chain of the swing, just above where Travis’ hands were, and shoved himself into Travis’ space until his mask was the only thing filling Travis’ vision. “You are the most judgemental asshole that I know,” he told him, a soothing geniality in his tone belying the harshness of the statement. “ _ Especially  _ to yourself. You don’t have to be, you know.” 

The scent coming off of Sal --the saltiness of sweat, the spiciness of deodorant, the overwhelming  _ safety  _ that the specific mix promised-- was almost more than Travis could handle. They didn’t normally get this close, and when they did, Travis usually had an out. He didn’t  _ mind  _ the ease with which Sal invaded his personal space; on the contrary, he  _ craved  _ it, which was why he avoided it like Sal (or he, himself) had the plague. 

Travis didn’t have an out here, though, not unless he was planning on backflipping off of his swing. 

“Uhh…” he replied eloquently, prompting a soft, kind laugh from behind Sal’s prosthetic. Maybe backflipping out of the swing would be a better plan, actually, than staying close enough for Sal’s breath to hit his lips through his mask. 

Sal shook his head. “There’s always hope, Travis. No matter who you are --or who you  _ think _ you are--” He bumped his hand against Travis’ pointedly and left it there, letting it slide lower on the chain. Travis was pretty sure he’d died and gone to heaven. Or hell. Or something weirder, something that his father didn’t believe in. “--there’s always hope.” Sal leaned back, but he left his hands on the chain of the swing, so he didn’t go nearly far enough away for Travis to remember how to breathe again. “You’re not a lost cause. You say it a lot, but… You can do great things. The only thing stopping you is your own fear. Once you get rid of that, I bet-- Actually, no, I  _ know  _ that you can do amazing things.” The soft quality of Sal’s voice was still there, warm and gentle and reassuring, and Travis wanted to scream or cry or thank him. He wanted to do  _ something  _ more, at least, than sit there on the swing with his mouth slightly open, staring at Sal like he’d hung the moon. 

“You’re too nice to me,” Travis croaked, because he had to say  _ something.  _

Sal shrugged. “I don’t think enough people have been nice enough to you, actually, is all,” he replied, a smile in his voice. Travis wanted to melt. 

He thought again about saying something, about telling Sal about the crazy, messed-up part of his life that his father orchestrated. He thought about telling Sal about the slightly-less crazy, still-pretty-messed-up secret, about the crush he’d had on him since he’d been old enough to know what a crush felt like. 

Travis opened his mouth--

\--and his hands slipped, all at once, from the chains of the swing. Within seconds, his balance fell away and he found himself falling backwards out of the seat. His back hit the packed dirt just before the back of his head did, and he made a loud sound as the air knocked out of his chest from the impact. 

“Travis!” 

He missed Sal moving to his side, but it must have happened in the seconds that he lost track of in the fall, because the next thing that Travis knew was that his head was being lifted off the ground and then laid down on something considerably softer. 

“Are you okay?” 

Travis opened his eyes --when had he closed them?-- and looked up into Sal’s eyes, his real one beautiful and wide and concerned. “I’m okay,” he assured him, wincing when Sal’s probing fingers poked into the newly-forming lump on the back of his skull. “Just slipped. Sorry.” 

Sal let out a huff that might have been laughter and might have been relief. “Don’t apologise, shit. I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

When he tried to sit up, Travis felt Sal’s hands pressing his shoulders down, keeping him in place. He frowned. 

“Take a minute, okay?” Sal said, one hand returning to gently brush through Travis’ hair once he’d stopped trying to struggle upright. To his utter embarrassment, he realised that the soft surface his head had been laid upon was Sal’s  _ lap.  _ “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

The feeling of his chest constricting uncomfortably had nothing to do with the fall he’d just taken, but Travis didn’t know how to say as much without sounding like he’d gone completely insane, so he said nothing at all. Instead, he closed his eyes again to avoid Sal’s gaze. He was hyper-aware of Sal’s fingers in his hair, the way he’d started carding through it like he was trying to comfort him instead of merely checking for bumps or blood. 

“Please don’t fall asleep,” Sal said to him. Travis felt himself flush, but he didn’t open his eyes. 

“I won’t,” he replied quietly, and then added before he lost his nerve, “That feels good.” 

The fingers didn’t even pause. “Oh. Yeah?” 

Travis felt his blush grow deeper. “Yeah.” 

Sal didn’t stop touching him, so Travis chanced a glance back up. He cracked his eyes open just enough to see Sal’s mask above him, and was surprised to find that Sal’s gaze was still locked on his own. His eyes crinkled beneath the prosthetic the way they did when he smiled, so Travis opened his eyes all the way and smiled back hesitantly. 

“I’m okay, I think,” he said softly. “Thank you, for making sure.” 

Sal rubbed his thumb gently along Travis’ forehead, brushing a strand of hair off of it. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, like it was obvious and  _ not  _ something extraordinarily revolutionary. “You’re my friend.” 

Travis stared up at him. He would never, ever tire of hearing Sal proclaim that they were friends, that there was no animosity between them, that they didn’t have to fight just because Travis had been a jerk to him in the past. Something of his awe must have shown on his face, because Sal poked gently at his cheek and shook his head. 

“You always look so surprised,” he complained, although his eyes were still smiling. “Stop it.” 

“Sorry,” Travis said, finally sitting up, though he didn’t do it without regret. He missed the feeling of Sal’s fingers brushing through his hair immediately. 

“Shut up,” Sal replied lightly. 

Travis bit his lip, considering. It was a risky move, but Sal had  _ touched him  _ so reverently, like it was natural for them instead of something that was scary or taboo, and Travis was so  _ tired  _ of being scared. He was afraid of his father, afraid of the things he didn’t understand, afraid of the strange men with the long robes that snuck downstairs at night. 

But he wasn’t afraid of Sal. 

Travis moved so that he was sitting in front of Sal, crossed his legs beneath him, and then leaned forward, kissing Sal’s mask right on the mouth. 

He pulled away, cheeks on fire, and could barely force himself to look through the eyes of Sal’s prosthetic. When he did, though, those eyes were still smiling. If anything, the smile seemed like it was bigger. 

“If I’d known that taking care of you would have gotten you to finally kiss me, I would have pushed you off the swings myself,” he said, sounding immensely pleased. Something tight and dark unwound in Travis’ chest at the mirth in his voice, and he even managed a smile, although it felt weak with relief. “It took you long enough.” 

“Please don’t push me off the swings,” was all Travis could find it in himself to say in response. When Sal laughed, that tight, dark thing unwound even more, until Travis felt like he could finally breathe for the first time in years. 

Tomorrow, he would tell Sal about all the messed-up things that he knew his father was doing. Tomorrow, they could figure it out, together. Today, though… Today, Travis reached for Sal’s hand with a shy grin, and that grin grew even wider when Sal held his hand right back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments are love! Come scream at me on tumblr @deathishauntedbyhumans.


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